Lying in the dark, lost in thoughts
by cuby18
Summary: Alone in the dark is like an invitation for your deepest fears to come and play. Written for Spyfest 2019, Week 2


**For the prompt: ''There's one secret everyone takes to the grave''**

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Alex was dimly aware of something warm and sticky pooling around his midsection, covering the cold ground he was lying on. He could barely keep his eyes open, much less recall the exact circumstances that led to his current situation. His mind was all foggy, he remembered stepping into the alley. He was following the man he spotted in the bar that looked suspiciously like the one on the picture that Mrs Jones showed him. He remembered his eyes adjusting to the dark when his instinct screamed to him to duck. Listening to them he barely avoided the blow to the head but was ill-prepared fort he knife coming from his left, his momentum and lack of sleep preventing him to move out of the way completely and having it skim his side, opening a shallow wound on his already badly bruised body, a souvenir of his fight with the other mercenaries he encountered earlier. The rest of the fight was blurred, a whirlwind of blows, dodging, jumping and avoiding the attack from – if his memory served him well still – two assailants, the second of which he was completely unprepared for.

Therefore it didn't really surprise him when he was outmatched, even if he didn't expect them to leave him alive to bleed out on the floor of the alley where anyone could find him. Regaining a bit of consciousness he slowly realised the strange feeling was caused by the blood oozing from the wound on his stomach, caused by the blade that caused his other wounds. He tried to move but was stopped almost immediately as the sharp pain shot through his midsection, effectively preventing any further attempts at getting up. He slowly tried to move his hand to see what measure of mobility he still regained and to check whether or not he could reach the piercing with a built-in system to call for back-up and GPS to give off his location at all times. With every new mission, it seemed like MI6 realised how much they actually needed him and started providing him with actual means of getting help if he found himself in a tight spot.

Finding that he could move his left hand without straining the still open wound too much, he took his time as not to aggravate his other wounds and reached for the piercing. Holding it for five seconds he once again endured the painful movements until he was back to his starting position, having used up pretty much all energy reserves that he retained while unconscious.

Turning his eyes to his surroundings he realised that they must have moved him further down the alley, most likely to prevent someone just passing by noticing him, but not exactly hiding him from the sight of someone with the misfortune of actually wandering into the alley. Finding nothing to help him in his current position (not that he expected to find something) he focused his attention towards the rooftops and the sky instead. Feeling the strength leaving him once again he found his mind drifting, reminiscing the countless nights he spent like this, be it in a hospital or his bed, usually after some especially trying and tiring mission.

He was lying in the bed, in the dark, his eyes turned towards the ceiling, tired and unseeing. It was, unfortunately, becoming a habit of his to spend nights restlessly turning around trying to get at least a few hours of sleep, but mostly with no success. Whenever he tried closing his eyes they were there, the faces of all the people he ever encountered on a mission and that met their ultimate end due to his actions. He still remembered how it started after Point Blanc, becoming even worse and more frequent after Damien Cray, although it wasn't his death that haunted him the most, but Yassen's.

He just couldn't seem to forget everyone that died because of him, his dreams plagued by his memories of every lethal encounter, never letting him forget. The worst happened after Cairo, he couldn't forget Jack's last moment, and even finding her alive and well didn't really make it any easier for him. It seemed as if the universe was set on making him relieve all of it, every horrible moment, the face of every person he was unable to save.

It was like he was unable to get even a brief reprieve, all the grief and guilt always accompanying him. It was influencing him quite obviously, enough for even MI6 to notice. It was evident from the fact that they tried to make him work it out, whatever it was that he should get off his chest, sending him to the shrink and trying to make him more open with his feelings. But he wasn't about to bare his soul for some shrink that was paid for by MI6 and therefore on their payroll to turn him into a machine that would blindly follow the instructions of his superiors and not burden himself with the guilt over his actions, despite them being necessary for the completion of the mission, which usually also meant saving the world from one catastrophe or another.

He actually tried to participate a little in the discussions they had, admitting that he was having trouble with the killing, but kept the deeper truth for himself. They, of course, knew he wasn't telling the whole truth, but he was in high demand, and missions simply couldn't be put aside for a few months or however long it would take for them to get to the bottom of the matter. Therefore he was usually sent back in the field after a few unsuccessful seasons, pretending it did help him despite all the evidence showing the opposite to be true.

Because the truth sounded a bit unbelievable even to him. How could he admit to anyone that he was afraid of what would come after, of how he would be able to face everyone that died from his hand once he inevitably joined him, the deadline of that happening getting closer with every mission he undertook. He couldn't admit to feeling anxiety at the thought of how his loved ones would greet him if he would ever find the courage to look them in the eye with all the blood marring his hands. It was something he knew he couldn't talk to anyone about, not even Ben that actually became his confidant in all the years they went on the missions together.

He was suddenly brought back to the present by the very person that was occupying his thoughts calling his name. He groggily opened his eyes and found Ben Daniels leaning over him, faces inches apart, concern clear in the tension of his face. He opened his mouth to say something sarcastic to let him know he would be okay only to discoverr his vocal cords weren't really listening to him. However, it seemed that any movement at all was a good enough sign at the moment as Ben stopped him before he could attempt anything else. Turning towards someone Alex couldn't see they exchanged some words, but Alex was once again too far removed for them to register in his brains.

The next time he woke it was in the hospital with tubes all around him and Ben at his side. He shortly contemplated asking him about the dreams but found he couldn't force the words out. It seemed that certain secrets weren't of the disclosable sort after all.


End file.
